


Bonds of War

by Halighfataliter



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Gen, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:33:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halighfataliter/pseuds/Halighfataliter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hawkeye earns Jean's loyalty amidst the dust and the bullets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bonds of War

  


 

  
The sand grinds under the sole of your boots as you slowly make your way down the empty street. It is loud and unnerving in the silence of Ishval and you can’t help the tightening of your fingers on the rifle. It is stupid really, because that  _freak_  is too fucking good to leave even a whisper of life in his wake. But you feel alien in those ruins; every shadow is a threat. You cradle the butt of your gun in the hollow of your shoulder. It sometimes seems to be your only friend.

 

 

Kadan is unbearable. The sun beats down on your back like angry fists and though the mountain winds chafe your lips and sting your skin, it is a welcome respite.

Half of the city is carved in the rock, tiny black holes perforating haphazardly the ochre versant. When the Alchemists have pulverized the tiny crooked streets to dust and the population has fled to the mountain like an army of ants, they send in foot soldiers. For the first time since your deployment here, you do the job you’re supposed to do. The elation wears off after a few days as you get shot at like pigeons and children start sneaking saltpetre bombs around your positions.

It is the beginning of five weeks sitting on your heels and bombing the rock with mortars. It is  _statu quo,_  you hear a ponce from the Academy tell a handful of wrung out soldiers. Asshole.

 

 

In the scorching hell of Parshan, soldiers pray to God and to the Hawkeye. You have never been one to believe and as bullets whistle past you, it seems very well the Hawkeye has deserted you.

Your hands are slick with sweat and your grip on Lieutenant Erikson’s wrist is slippery as you hurry for cover. You find shelter in a narrow side street and swear when a cursory glance reveals a dead end. You let go of the lieutenant’s arm. It hits the ground with a dull thud. A dark pool of blood is seeping in the sand beneath him and you try hard not to look at his eyes, pupils blown wide opened to the sky.

With nimble fingers, you yank his dog tags free. You stuff them in your pocket before stepping carefully to the mouth of the alley. Back pressed to the wall, you wait for the Ishbalans to approach.

In the end, it’s down to luck and reflexes and the Hawkeye. You catch the first insurgent in the chest and hear the gun of the second jam with a click. Before you can move, the neck of the third one snaps back. He stumbles to the ground. And once again, all is silent.

 

 

A lifetime later, springtime is sweet in East City and Lieutenant Colonel Mustang is pushing standing orders towards you. You feel the Eyes of the Hawk on you, sure and steady. You scribble your name at the bottom of the page.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Gun Malfunction". 
> 
> Lovely banner made by Sonjajade.


End file.
